


Storge, Philia, Eros, Agape

by jessebee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Kissing, Angst, Emotional Hurt, Kiss Meme Request, M/M, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Pre-TPM-Canon, Requested Scene From Another Story, This is not the fluff you might have had in mind, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: A kiss that shouldn't have happened leads to a talk that nobody really wants.(requested prequel to SABBATICAL RETURNS)





	Storge, Philia, Eros, Agape

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anelmemi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anelmemi/gifts).



 

 

 

It should NOT have happened like this.

A split-second of urgent insanity, and _Qui-Gon's going to kill me dead_ , were all Obi-Wan could think, and then he wasn't really thinking at all.

Trapped in the alley where their “personas” were meeting, surrounded by other sex workers and patrons, wearing clothing – or lack thereof – that nobody would ever associate with Jedi and with no time to convince the entire squad of Kasayam's High Guard looming at the alley mouth not to see them, Obi-Wan had gone with the Moment.

Qui-Gon's mouth was warm and wet and his lips tasted bready-sour from the local distillate, and Obi-Wan was going to associate beer with his master from this day on until he finally joined the Force.

A moment of shocked stillness. Then Qui-Gon was kissing him back, angling for a better fit, a wave of desire came crashing through the Force, and _not thinking_ became purely _feeling_ _feeling feeling_ , drowning in this perfect, catastrophic Moment.

His master’s hair, the locks of it that Obi-Wan’s hands weren’t buried in, had swung down in a loose curtain around their faces, hiding the main bits of them that the Guards might recognize. Which was good because the rest of Obi-Wan wasn't hidden at all – the disguise he was almost wearing barely allowed room for raised eyebrows, never mind raised anything else. Which was going to become a distinct problem in the next fifteen seconds –

The desire blanked out as if it had never been, like a wall slamming down. Obi-Wan winced.

Qui-Gon broke the kiss then but mercifully didn't move away, only leaned their foreheads together, his eyes closed and breath coming a touch too fast.

Obi-Wan swallowed and convinced his hands to let go, and reached through the Force to sense their surroundings. “The Guards have moved on,” he said, a little choked, “and the alley's clear. Except for the others here – doing business.”

“Good.” Qui-Gon's voice was soft and shockingly normal. He stood up straight and stepped back, and cool air walked rude fingers over Obi-Wan's skin. Qui-Gon raked his hair out of his face. “We must find the Regent,” he said, coiling the silvered bronze mass into a quick knot at his nape. “It is far past time to put an end to this ridiculous war.”

Obi-Wan looked up at him.

The image was going to haunt his wet-dreams until he was a hundred and two: Qui-Gon Jinn in that close-fit black clothing, the familiar form warped into a chaotic beauty molded out of night and tempered death. Obi-Wan's own body hummed like a struck bell, and he wrestled it ruthlessly back under control. What did he say, now that he'd kissed the man he’d wanted forever? What _could_ he say? “Master – ”

“We have work to finish, Padawan.” Not kind, not unkind: not anything. Only that blank wall. “Focus on the Moment.”

“Yes, Master.” _I am_ _,_ Obi-Wan thought, locking it behind his tightest shields. Qui-Gon's taste was still in his mouth. _I am._ _That's the problem._

 

*

 

Two days later, Kasayam's civil war was over. The Regent's forces and the opposition's had been “invited” to parley, and then been alternately cajoled and thundered at by Senior Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn until a middle ground had been reached and a treaty drafted and agreed upon.

The official signing had been this afternoon, and most things were settled. Peace had been restored, and the happy throngs outside were making as much joyful noise as they could in support of it.

Obi-Wan watched them through the smudged window. His own peace was another matter entirely.

For all the words spoken over the last two days, not a single one of them had addressed the bantha that had taken up residence smack in the middle of their rooms. Qui-Gon had acted no differently: in fact, Qui-Gon had given no indication that he'd noticed the beast at all, although surely that couldn't be the case.

For his own part, Obi-Wan had had more than enough of sidling around it.

Their duties here as Jedi were done, and the planet's new coalition government had promised them transportation to the one currently functioning spaceport in the morning. There was no longer a reason for Obi-Wan to keep silent.

He hoped.

And yet, to speak… if he was wrong…

“Obi-Wan.”

Ah, Qui-Gon wasn't sleeping after all. Obi-Wan turned from the window to look at the man instead, who lay stretched out on the bed which was, for once, long enough for him. “Master?”

“You're troubled, Padawan.”

Shash. “My shielding – I guess I'm more tired than I thought. I'm sorry to have disturbed you.”

“You haven't, although I will confess to a bit of concern. You've been tense since we returned here to the palace and began negotiations, more than your usual in these situations, but perhaps meditation will ease that now that the tension outside has been defused.”

Obi-Wan knew he was staring, but what else to do when he'd just been rebuked and coddled all at once? Qui-Gon _hadn't_ noticed the damn bantha, somehow.

Qui-Gon's eyes opened then and he levered himself upright on the bed, obviously exhausted, yet alert, ready to be there if his padawan needed him. As he ever had been. “And now that has troubled you more. What is it?”

Might as well be plain with it, since his master was oblivious. “Three nights ago, in the alley, when I…”

“Ah. What about it?”

Now he really _was_ staring. “What _about_ it? Master, I _kissed_ you!”

“You did,” Qui-Gon agreed, calmly. “Not the solution I would have suggested, but effective all the same.”

Obi-Wan's jaw dropped. Of all the reactions he'd considered, that one had been no-where on the list. “How are you – I _felt_ – you _must_ have – ”

Qui-Gon's brow cleared. “Stop.”

“But – ”

“Obi-Wan, stop. For your own sake.” Qui-Gon's voice was horribly gentle.

Something wouldn't let him, though. He took a step forward. “Why? I can't, I – I need to know.”

Qui-Gon's expression, too, was gentle. “Because you are going to cause yourself pain, Padawan, if you continue on this line of questions; needless pain. It will grieve me to see that.”

Something was coiling queasily near the bottom of Obi-Wan's stomach, but still he could not stop. “There _was_ desire, I _felt_ it. You wanted me.”

“Padawan – ”

“You _want_ me. You kissed me back; you did,” Obi-Wan said, barreling forward almost helplessly, the draigon in his belly demanding to be heard. “You love me like I love you, you do. I have loved you for years, you know I have, you _must_ know – ”

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and breathed, breath coming back out in a long, soft sigh. When he opened his eyes again, there was no change, only that terribly, horribly kind expression. “Of course I love you, Obi-Wan, you are eminently lovable. And you are my student.”

“You – !”

“Control, Padawan.” Command now at last, a sharp crack in Qui-Gon's tone. Obi-Wan gulped, and breathed, and finally, _finally_ caught the flung-out edges of himself again and pulled them together, leashing the draigon. Qui-Gon nodded. “Better. Now: listen to me.

“ _You are my student_. Your training, your care, your very life in many ways, has been entrusted to me. You yourself, most of all, have entrusted all this to me and that is a bond I will not break. Which is what a physical relationship between us would do.”

“There _was_ desire,” Obi-Wan whispered, his mouth still operating without consent of his brain. The words fell flat and muffled on the faded rug between them.

“Indeed; that alley was literally drenched in it, desire and lust. It's not at all surprising that something should have leaked through,” Qui-Gon said, quite reasonably.

Except – that wasn’t it. “That wasn’t it.” Little Force gods, _why_ could he not stop talking?

“And you are so sure?” The hideously kind look was back. “Your experience is wide for your age, perhaps, but it's not that wide.”

“I'm eighteen Standard, Master, I'm not a child,” Obi-Wan said, stung, and then clacked his teeth together as he realized, suddenly, sickeningly, where this must be headed –

“But you are, dear one, two months past your majority or not,” Qui-Gon said, and that same sincere, immovable gentleness now stabbed like a knife. “As long as you are a student – and _my_ student – that is in fact what you are, and that alone would be reason enough. Moreover, you are less - than - half my age,” he said, drawing the words out. “I do love you, most dearly, but I don’t find children sexually appealing.”

Implacable, and kinder than Obi-Wan could stand.

His Master had been right. It hurt.

He wanted to protest, to scream, to run. He did none of those things. He was Jedi.

Obi-Wan sank to the floor and closed his eyes, reaching for calm, for air, insisting that his body keep breathing around the knot in his throat. It was hurting both of them, as Qui-Gon had said it would: his master’s regret was clear in their bond and in the Force.

Eventually calm did come, something resembling peace if not exactly serenity. Qui-Gon hadn't moved but remained sitting on the bed, his silent presence both balm and acid, his unwavering support a comfort even as it stung and burned.

And with peace, the words repeated themselves, without the jagged flash of emotion this time, and Obi-Wan looked at them again.

And saw, heard – what? What did he hear? “Master?”

“Obi-Wan?”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and faced his master’s indigo blue gaze, made darker than usual by the shadows of the room. “And, when I am – _not_ – a student any longer?”

Qui-Gon’s face didn’t change, nor did his Force aura shift, but there was something… “That is a question that must wait until after you’re Knighted.”

After –? Obi-Wan opened his mouth, but his teacher shook his head, and what there was, was serenity, that unshakable _deep-well Force-calm_.

Only perhaps there was too a kind of – sadness? – lying almost hidden at the bottom of those unfathomable eyes. “After you’re Knighted, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “You may ask then, should you wish.”

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> From the tumblr kiss meme: **#12 - a kiss that shouldn't have happened.**  
>  A kind of prequel to SABBATICAL RETURNS, as requested by anelmemi, who wanted to know what was meant by "Ask me after you're Knighted."


End file.
